A Tale of Khara Thel
By K.W. Jackson
Copyright, © 2011, K.W. Jackson. All rights reserved.
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Crottle stepped quietly through the shadows of Mastview Alley. Once upon a time, he supposed, you could see the masts on the wharves of Ferris. Now the buildings were all at least three stories high and so close together many parts of Rum Town were in permanent shadow. If only he was like Patchwork and could traverse Rum Town from end to end without touching the ground - leaping from rooftop to wall to rooftop. That would be the way to travel. No risk from gangs, beggars, cutpurses and footpads. If he could do that he could operate at any other time except the dead of night - like where he was now.
Parkey said that Patchwork never goes to the surface except for a contract. Patchwork even sleeps in a place that you can't get to unless you jump from a six-storey tenement. Anyway, what does Parkey know except the bottom of a jug of rum. This night Parkey was probably slumped in an alley full of rubbish so drunk he'd filled his pants with his own nightsoil. Rats would be nibbling off what was left of his ears.